A Deadly Twist Jeffrey Siger (book recommendations txt) 📖

a sweet Junta job and didn’t need to risk pissing off someone who was doing something my superiors must have known about. No way he could be digging all those holes and not be noticed.”

“Did you ever find out why he dug the holes?”

“I have a pretty good idea. Every night the same old man would walk his dog onto the edge of the property and I’d have to shoo him away. It became a ritual, and we’d talk for a bit before he’d head back home. One night he asked me why the caïques came in so late at night to the concrete pier just below the hotel construction. I said I didn’t know anything about those boats, but they were probably there to unload supplies. He said, no, they were loading, not unloading, and always gone before dawn.” Tassos reached for another carrot stick. “Years later, after the project had gone bankrupt and the Junta’d been overthrown, I heard from someone in the artifacts business that Naxos was filled with ancient burial sites—”

“Antiquities smuggling,” said Lila.

“You win the prize,” said Tassos. “The ancients buried their dead with whatever they’d need in their next life. Many of the treasures in the island’s Archaeological Museum came from gravesites. Though it hadn’t registered with me at the time, locals used to call the construction ‘the gravesite project.’”

“So the holes the grandfather dug were on ancient gravesites?” said Andreas.

“Based on his history, I’ve no doubt that’s true. But there’s a lot more to the story. In later years he went back to farming. He’d done what he’d had to do to keep his family alive, but he didn’t want his children and grandchildren following his ways. He became active in the conservation resistance to preserve the beauty and history of Naxos. He galvanized village opposition to expanding the airport, rallied locals to successfully challenge efforts to resurrect the failed Alyko hotel project, and openly supported the Case of the 33.”

“Then the reporter was right about the old man, his son, and grandson being activists, and what Yianni was told about the grandfather was bullshit,” said Andreas.

“I don’t know about the other two, but it’s sure BS about the grandfather.”

“Why would they lie?” asked Maggie.

“That’s something to ask them.”

The housekeeper stepped out onto the terrace. “Lunch is ready. Shall I serve it out here?”

Lila and Maggie jumped up. “We’ll help you,” said Lila.

“Not necessary,” said the housekeeper.

“We need a break,” said Maggie, following Lila and the housekeeper inside.

“From what?” said Tassos.

“Don’t worry about them. I’m still listening. Is there anything more you have to tell me?” said Andreas.

“Nope.” Tassos jerked in his seat and reached into his pants pocket. “My mobile’s on vibrate.” He looked at the phone screen. “Perhaps I do. The call’s from my friend who’s trying to set up the meeting for tomorrow.”

Tassos held the phone against his cheek with his shoulder, crossed his fingers on one hand, and reached for a pita with the other.

“A true multitasker,” smiled Andreas.

Tassos nodded yes as he said into his phone, “Make me smile, my friend.”

* * *

Tassos listened patiently as his friend described what he’d gone through to arrange the meeting. Apparently, word was out to many that the reporter had disappeared, and some of those that Tassos’s friend had contacted now worried for their safety and that of their families.

“Who has them worried?”

“They’re too worried to tell me,” said Tassos’s friend.

“Jesus.”

“No need for you to worry, though. I convinced them they’d be much worse off if they didn’t speak to you.”

“How’d you do that?”

“By playing on their natural fears that the government is a police state capable of all kinds of merciless deeds.”

“And they believed you?”

“Why not? I believe it. After all, do you forget where we met? I was a political prisoner under a fascist regime.”

“But times are different now?”

“Are they?”

Tassos had been down this road before with his friend. “Okay, I get your point. Let’s move on. What—not who—has them worried?”

“It’s conjecture based upon gossip, but when you toss in an element of truth, even lies gain credibility. Here we have an Athenian journalist writing about big money angling to slice up the island for private gain, and Naxians remember how Athens media helped the thirty-three defeat a public benefit project backed by the local government to expand the port. The last thing modern-day privateers want is the national press focusing on what they have in mind for Naxos and its treasures.”

“What are you saying?”

“Even among opponents and supporters of the port project, there were violent skirmishes. Passions run high in disputes over development.”

“But we’re talking about kidnappers and potential murderers?”

“I’m not suggesting there was anyone like that involved in the port dispute, but now we’re talking about private projects capable of generating at least as much passionate resistance. You’re a cop, do you have any doubt that among all the private projects percolating around here there aren’t bad actors from dangerous places around the world looking to launder money made in the most mercenary of ways? For them to do physical harm in pursuit of monetary gain is not a reach at all.”

“Do you have any particular projects or bad guys in mind?”

“Nope. For that you’ll have to speak to the people I’ve pulled together for your meeting.”

“Tell me about them.”

“They’re from different parts of the island. Some are native to Naxos, others expats, but all vigorously oppose unrestrained development.”

“Who ever admits to being in favor of unrestrained development?”

“Good point. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard a politician say anything remotely like that, even those who love pouring concrete over any open space they can find. But the ones coming to your meeting actually live their lives keeping that commitment.”

“I assume you know them all.”

“Yes, and if they’re locals, most of their parents and grandparents as well. The bookseller’s late grandfather and I were together in resisting the Junta, though he never got arrested.”

“Poor guy, he never got to meet me.”

“I’m sure he regretted that. He